Tale of Two Couriers
by AyutaYutyl
Summary: Fallout New Vegas - Courier twins, newly christened as Six and Nine by their designated identification number, venture across the unfamiliar wasteland of the Mojave in search of the man who shot them and left them for dead. Of course, it's never that simple, because life. [Rated M for suggestive themes, liberal use of profanity, and violence, all the good stuff.]
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 **\- Ghost Town Gunfight -**

* * *

 **'Ello, readers. Played Fallout NV for some time before, but never got the muse to eke out a story, until now.**

 **This story will revolve around the idea of 'what if', what if there were two Couriers, both of them twins? A simple idea, overlayed with a generous heaping of profanity, suggestive themes and languages, and good 'ol gore-tastic violence. I'm also planning on incorporating some of the mods I've used before, most notable ones being the New Vegas Bounties trilogy (easily one of the best mods for Fallout NV, in my opinion), some elements of Project Nevada, etc. I'm also trying to keep the writing a bit light-hearted, toning down the whole 'doom-and-gloom' atmosphere I've got going in my other story.**

 **Story-wise** **, I'm adhering to canon as a baseline, with personal touches and alterations here and there. Not much plans regarding DLCs as of now - maybe I'll add them in as one big story, maybe as separate stories, I haven't decided yet.**

 **In any case, hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Panting, Nine slid underneath one of the discarded wagons, kicking up a cloud of dust in the process. Just in time, it seemed, as bullets after his blood fell short on their mark, punching through the dirt-stained windows of the saloon. Amidst the din of shouts and gunshots, the Courier heard the glass shatter, and a cry of anger from the owner of said saloon.

Taking aim, Nine steadied his hands, and squeezed the trigger. Varmint rifles were shittier than the peashooters that were 9mm and .22 handguns – which, in itself said a lot of things – but it did what it was supposed to, that is, clearing out local geckos and, in this particular case, a gang of thugs with shitty gear and even shittier aim. Two shots, and down went another powder ganger with a hole in his chest and head.

"Heads up!" A dynamite whistled through the air, bouncing off the cracked pavement and straight into a trio of ruffians taking cover behind the ramshackle remains of a fence. Panicking, one of them dove to lob it back, only for it to go off in a spectacular array of smoke and gore. The ensuing blast smoked the two out of their hiding spot, right into the open ground where they were gunned down.

"You fuckers!" Enraged, a few of the powder gangers charged into the fray, brandishing knives and hammers. Trudy and Sunny picked them off from their positions up on saloon's rooftop, while another redhead in a Vault jumpsuit drew out a machete with a gleam as wicked as that grin that graced her face.

"Death from above, motherfucker!" The redhead yelled as she leapt from the roof and landed on a thug, lodging her machete in his chest. Blood showered her from the impact, though it did little to deter the young woman. On the contrary, the sight of red only whetted her bloodlust, and she wasted little time in moving to the next unfortunate thug on the chopping block.

Hauling himself out under the wagon, Courier Nine made for the nearest cover, a tall wooden box, and sniped down a powder ganger before he could shoot the questionably crazy female Courier with a machete. Said Courier then proceeded to stab another thug in the gut, wrenching the crowbar from his now dead hands.

Taking a moment to switch out a clip, Nine took a moment to survey their current status. Most of the townsfolk was still alive and kicking, with a few injured hauled away from the shootout, with one casualty. For a small farming town they were holding out pretty well, a few even with a trick up their sleeves, or a crate full of them in Easy Pete's case. Then again, considering the local wildlife skulking around the area, it wasn't all that surprising that they knew how to defend themselves.

The powder gangers weren't pushovers, that was for sure. Despite almost half their numbers dead, they still fought back, bullets for bullets, blood for blood. It was a good thing they set up traps in anticipation of the gangers' arrival, otherwise this shootout could've been a lot hairier.

Ringo cried out as he fell, clutching his bloodied arm. Nine moved closer to the caravaneer and quickly checked him over. "Shit, Trudy!" Nine waved her over, laying down cover fire for the saloon owner as she half-crouched half-ran. "We need to get him patched up. Take him to doc, could you? We'll mop up the rest!"

"Got it. Don't wreck my bar too much, alright? Damn place's falling apart without damn convicts shooting at it."

Nine grinned. "No promises. Go!" Popping out of his cover, he felled two more thugs in quick succession, while courier Six put another two to the machete. All that was left of the powder gangers was Joe Cobb himself.

"It's over, buddy! Drop the weapon!" A rancher yelled as he inched closer with a crowbar.

"Over my dead body!" Cobb spat as his SMG spat hail of 9mm rounds, shredding through the rancher's worn leather armour as if it was paper. The ringleader of the gangers then turned to the female courier as she rushed him, intending to give her the same treatment when pain exploded in his hand, the gun slipping through the bloody stumps where his fingers used to be.

"Son of a bitch! What the fuck?!"

Lowering his varmint rifle, Courier Nine shot him a mock salute. "You're welcome, sis."

Courier Six grinned. "Yeah, whatever. Now, what shall we do with you, eh?"

"W-wait! Just let me go, man. I swear to god I'll never do this again!" Cobb pleaded, sobbing. "C'mon, man, just let me go! I'll give you anything you want!"

"That right?" Half-turning her head, she shouted over her shoulder. "This guy wants to make a bargain for his life. What'd you think?"

The reply came in the form of a single gunshot. Cobb collapsed into the dirt, blood and brain matter dribbling out of the newly-made hole in his head.

"Oh, oops. My bad, finger slipped," Nine deadpanned.

Courier Six gaped in disbelief. "Dude, seriously? That was my kill, you fuckwit!"

"You were taking so damn long I just decided to speed things up," Nine said as his eyes met with Sunny's. "Besides, I doubt the townsfolk would've wanted to let him live, anyway. Too dangerous."

Sunny Smiles grimly nodded. "As much as we hate unnecessary killing, there's no telling what he would've done if we let him go. I don't think Goodsprings can last another showdown, to be honest."

Six scowled, but sheathed her machete without complaints. "Alright, now that's out of the way, what now?"

* * *

The Couriers spent the afternoon helping the townsfolk with the cleaning. The two unfortunate victims of the town shootout were given proper burials in the cemetery, while Cobb and his entourage were dumped in a massive hole dug just outside the town's perimeter. "Don't want no filthy corpse-eaters skulking about the town," said one Easy Pete.

Those who were injured were stimmed and patched up, courtesy of Doc Mitchell. Compared to delicate needlework required for dislodging bits of lead out of one's gray matter, treating bullet wounds were a cakewalk. Ringo was bedridden for a while yet, though he was glad to have survived the ordeal nonetheless.

"I owe you two a huge favour for this. Wish I had the caps to pay you for what you did for me, but…" the caravaneer trailed off, pointing his bandaged wound.

"Well, shit."

"Listen, I may not have many caps to my name right now, but once I'm back on my feet and back in the company, I can arrange some monetary rewards for you two. Would that be okay?"

Six and Nine met each other's eyes. The female courier raised a brow, and her male counterpart shrugged, then nodded. The Crimson Caravan's company was conveniently located near their destination. "That'd be fine, so long as you keep your word."

"Trader's honour. Just be sure to stay alive long enough to get there. Just look me up, and we can talk over the terms over a drink. My treat." Ringo extended his hand, and Nine shook it.

With the business negotiation done and out of the way, the two Couriers made for the general goods store. Chet's initial disdain towards the two newcomers was well-noted, though he mellowed out rather quickly when Six made some suggestive remarks, topping it off with a seductive wink. It had the intended effect, and soon the duo left the store with a bag full of caps and ammunition clip belts around their waists.

"That was pretty low, sis. You just ruined him, the poor guy."

Six let out a rather un-ladylike snort. "And you're a fucking hypocrite. Don't think I didn't see you swiping that gun off the shelf when he wasn't looking."

"Then let's hope he's not too meticulous with inventory checks."

"Eh, no need. I'll… _persuade_ him to overlook it."

Nine gave his twin a flat look. "Please don't tell me you're going to do what I think you're going to."

The female Courier barked a laughter, and simply dragged him into the Prospector Saloon. That night, the entire town of Goodsprings congregated in the rickety bar, few as they were, and raised many glasses in toast. Music blasted from the jukebox, bottles were quickly drained one after the other, often punctuated with shouts and loud laughter.

Nine polished off his third bottle of whiskey, then took his aim. One clean shot, and the white billiard ball raced from one end of the pool table to the other, pushing the last black ball into the pocket.

"Not bad, you played pool before?" Sunny Smiles beamed, taking a swig of scotch.

"No idea, maybe. Feels natural, like something I've done before, you know?" Nine shrugged. He wasn't too upset over the loss of his memory, most of them anyway. He still remembered Six, and some of the events in their past lives. Everything else was fragmented, mosaics of different colour and shapes. And what his mind failed to remember, his body filled in some of the gaps, muscle memories. It felt familiar, whether it was a pool stick or a rifle he held in his hands.

Or maybe it was just the alcohol talking. He distinctively recalled a younger Six laughing at his piss-poor alcohol tolerance.

Current, modern-day Six was in the process of jumping on the counter, open bottles in each hand and loudly sang off-key, the lyrics incomprehensible due to her slurring, though given her natural voyeuristic and somewhat lascivious disposition, he no doubted it was something risqué and even potentially ambiguous in social conventions.

Her audience seemed to like it well enough, whether due to liquid stupidity impairing their higher cognitive functions or something else he didn't know, didn't care enough to know. Some even started singing along, and soon it was a cacophony of drunken bawls and nail across the proverbial chalkboard.

"It's really getting loud. Wanna get out of here?" Sunny suggested.

Courier Nine gave the young petite woman a once-over, appreciating the womanly contours outlined by a rather form-fitting leather armour. It didn't hurt that she had a pretty face, either. He didn't need alcohol to pick up on the social cue, getting wasted was just a bonus, and even a little excuse to fall back on to when the need arose.

"Lead the way."

They ended up in Victor's shack, Sunny citing that she didn't want Trudy to walk in on them. Clothes peeled off, they dove under the cover and spent the night together. Turns out, he's done this before, too.

Morning came when the shack's door creaked open, Six's bedraggled face peering through the gap. "Morning, li'l bro. Hurry up and get dressed, yeah? Got a lot of grounds to cover today."

With a yawn Nine sat up, gingerly sliding off the bed. Sunny was still fast asleep, and he was loathe to wake her up. Not to disturb her sleep, but mostly because he was terrible when it came to saying good-byes. Covering her with the blanket, he donned on his leather armour, then headed out the shack without looking back.

* * *

 **A/N: A short introductory chapter, word count may swell as story progresses.**

 **Choice of the twins' names were intentional - canonically, the Courier's designated number is Six. As for nine, that's just my favourite number. Plus, the two numbers are food for potential dirty jokes. Also, I've made it so that they didn't lose all their memories, just some.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **\- This _Was_ My Kind of Town -**

* * *

"Well… shit. That's not something you see every day." Nine stepped closer to the dirt-smeared husk of what was once a fridge, then toed the skeletal remains of the poor bastard unlucky enough to have ended up in said household appliance. Try as he might, he just couldn't come up with an appropriate context for… whatever _this_ was.

"Eh, whatever. Dibs on the hat." Six bent over and swiped the headgear, patting off dust and other filth before putting it on.

"Really? You're just going to take the hat from a dead guy just like that?" Nine asked, incredulous.

"Says the guy who just went on a grave-robbing spree," Six riposted, pointing at his backpack where the snow globe jostled around among other personal belongings.

"Touché. At least I didn't pry it off of a dead guy. Pretty sure our old man said something about not disturbing the dead or some shit."

Courier Six shrugged. "Hey, it wasn't like he's gonna use it. 'Sides, you know I burn up easily, hate these goddamn freckles," she said as she rubbed her nose. "And wasn't it ma?"

Courier Nine shook his head. "No, I'm pretty damn sure she wore the stars for Uncle Sam." Also the one who wore the pants in that relationship, if his (somewhat damaged ergo not wholly trustworthy) memory served correctly. "Dad had that little weird shrine in the garage, remember?"

The female Courier frowned, before snapping her fingers as realisation kicked in. "Oh yeah, the one with the funny letters and shit. Japanese, was it?"

"Eh, probably. And you remember when this kid called you a 'carrot top'?"

"No, it was 'fire crotch," Six said, scowling. "And fuck that kid. Gingers are awesome."

"Whatever you say, sis." He hoped she didn't remember him joining in the name-calling as kids. Twins they may be, but that didn't stop his sister from being a pain in the ass when they were tweens.

Reminiscence over, the duo followed the cracked asphalt road winding down south, until they came across an intersection, one heading toward the resplendent New Vegas, and other to Primm, if the serpentine coil of roller coaster in the distance was anything to go by. If what Sunny said was true, then that's where the Mojave Courier Express was, and with any luck, there would be some paper trails that could help shed some light about their history. Neither of the twins could recall why they decided to work as couriers in the Mojave wasteland. That, and the pompous ass who shot them in the head was last seen heading towards Primm, so it was killing two birds with one stone, or bullet, given their circumstances.

Up ahead stood a ramshackle shack, with a man garbed in a set of leather armour leaning against the rusted door.

"You don't look like one of them gangers. You're not, are you?" The man asked.

Six snorted. "Hell no, you ever seen a chick ganger?"

The man sheepishly nodded. "You're right, my bad. It's just that I saw a bunch of powder gangers heading to Goodsprings yesterday, and given how small the town is, well, I assumed the worst."

"Those Goodsprings folk aren't the type to just roll over and let people walk all over them. They fought back the powder gangers and won," Nine said with a small pride.

The man whistled. "Must've been a hell of a gunfight. Damn shame I missed out on the action."

Nine's eyes flickered to the shotgun strapped to the man's back. "You don't see a piece like that on most prospectors, you some kind of gun-for-hire?"

"Good eyes. Yeah, I'm a former caravan guard turned bounty hunter. Heard there were plenty of those gangers out and about, so I thought it'd be worth a few caps to cash in on some of them."

"Bounties, huh?" Both twins' eyes lit up at the prospect. Their parents had their fair share of time as bounty hunters, and the tales of Regulators hunting down ne'er-do-wells have always been their favourite past-time stories. "There's a bounty on powder gangers?"

The man shook his head. "No, but given their history as escaped convicts, and with the NCR spread thin enough as they are, thought it'd be good to show some initiative."

"Are they that short on manpower?" Nine recalled what Trudy said about the two powerhouse factions vying for control of the Mojave. That was an intriguing Q & A session, to say the least.

The bounty hunter shrugged. "Haven't been keeping up with current events, so I've no idea. But the encampment outside Primm's still flying the flags for the Bears, so I can assume they're not here."

"Why Primm?"

"Haven't you heard? The whole town got ransacked by powder gangers not too long ago. Word has it that the townsfolk, however many that's left anyway, are holed up in one of the casinos. And the NCR are short on troops to retake the town."

"Then what, they're just sitting on their ass doing jack shit?" Six asked.

"Probably to stop them from pushing too far down south. There's NCR base further down south in Mojave Outpost. Then again, I've heard stories of weird freaks wandering about in the Long 15, and I'm not talking about some convicts."

"Fucking Mojave's going to hell, man." Six turned to her male counterpart. "Bro, let's just head up north straight to Vegas. I have no fucking idea what these 'cazadores' are, but it'd be way better than hoofing it all the way down then circling back up again."

The bounty hunter gaped in disbelief. "Lady, trust me when I say you're much better off going around the long way. These cazadores aren't just your average bullet fodder, they're mean SoB's. An adult one is bigger than humans, flies faster than you can run, and once they sting you, it's over. And don't even get me started on deathclaws."

"Deathclaws? The fuck are those?"

The bounty hunter fell silent, waiting for the punchline to drop, only it didn't. "You… you've got to be kidding me."

"We're, uh, new to Mojave. I've heard that they closed down the I-15 leading to New Vegas because of these so-called 'deathclaws', but we've never actually seen one in person," Nine admitted. He wasn't certain if they've been to Mojave before or not, but he didn't want to bring up the whole 'bullet to the head' fiasco.

"And I hope you never do, 'cause that'll be the last thing you'll ever see. There's a reason why they're called 'deathclaws'. Anyways, take my advice, and take the Highway 95 instead. Yeah, maybe you might run into some unfriendly local wildlife on the way, but they'll be a hell of a lot friendlier than nightmares infesting I-15, that I can promise you."

After thanking the man for information, they continued their trek down south, a little disappointed. Neither of them wanted to put the man's warnings to the test, though. They escaped death once quite recently – neither of them wanted another close encounter with the reaper.

The road to Primm wasn't an easy one. They ran into a couple of powder gangers holed up in the trailer placed off-road, though the Couriers managed to rout them easily enough. A few young geckos darted in and out of their view, one of them feeding on a radroach's carcass, much to their disgust.

"Fuck, that's gross." Nine wasn't sure whether she meant the radroach or the gecko feeding on said oversized insect, but neither mattered as he sniped the gecko down with a well-placed shot through its skull.

Less than a minute passed when the two froze. "Did you hear that?" Nine asked, as a croak echoed from the outcrop to their right. They cried out in terror when a gecko, as tall and burly as a man, leapt into view, clutched in its hands a large rusty cleaver.

Nine opened fire, eyes widening in dismay when the mutant gecko refused to buckle in its stride. Throwing all notion of fighting aside, the twins ran as fast as they could, all the while conscious of the aberrant's heavy breathing chasing after them.

"Ohmyfuckinggoditsfollowingus!" Six yelled, her pitch rising an octave.

"No shit, sherlock! Keep running!" Nine shouted, pointing at the makeshift barricade looming ahead of them. He could see flurry of movement atop the ramp, and voices shouting though he couldn't make out what was said. What he did hear was the clear, crisp bursts of gunfire, and the cry of pain as the mutant gecko fell, riddled with holes.

The twins didn't stop until they were behind the barricade, and they took a few moments to catch their breaths. When they stabilised their racing hearts, one of the shooters, decked out in a soldier's fatigue, greeted them.

"That's not something you see every day, though that was definitely a close call. You two alright? The roads can be dangerous, especially for citizens without protection."

"What the fuck was that shit?"

"We just call 'em mutants, no idea where they came from, but sure as hell reassuring to know they bleed and die like any other wildlife out there," the soldier replied.

"Yeah, provided they don't stick you first."

The soldier rolled his eyes. "Obviously. In any case, Primm's off-limits, so I'd suggest you go back to wherever you came from, citizens."

"Yeah, we heard. Something about them powder fuckers taking over the town and some other shit," Six said impatiently. "And 'sides, there's something we need in Primm, and we're not leaving until we get them."

The soldier looked about ready to argue, when Nine interjected. "Look, how about you just take us to the man in charge, eh?"

The soldier sighed, but nodded. "Follow me, then."

It was a short walk through the NCR encampment, with tents pitched on open grounds between derelict remains of houses and buildings. Several soldiers stared as they walked past, no doubt puzzled over the presence of two strangers with stranger electronic piece mounted on their wrists, the female of the duo even decked out in a Vault jumpsuit.

"Just wait out here," the soldier said, disappearing into a tent. Seconds later, another man walked out, this one with a worn beret.

"Lieutenant Hayes of the New California Republic Army, 5th Battalion, 1st Company. McGee said you wanted to see me?"

"Yeah, anyone ever told you you're quite the looker?" Six grinned.

Nine facepalmed. "Dumbass…"

Hayes said nothing, eyeing the twins with no small amount of confusion. Clearing his throat, Nine decided to speak for the both of them. "You're the man in charge? We heard Primm was taken over by the gangers. Thing is, we've got some important business to take care of in Primm, and it's rather urgent, too."

"If you wish to head into the town, then you're welcome to do so. However, once you're inside you're on your own. It was for your own good when we tried to warn you," Hayes clarified.

"What I'd like to know, is why you don't just charge in. You're trained military troopers going up against a bunch of jackasses that escaped prison. How hard can it be?"

"Military operations are classified information. I can't divulge any details to those who aren't associated with the NCR."

Nine raised his hands. "Yeah, touchy subject, got it. In any case, we'll be heading inside."

Hayes nodded. "Sergeant."

McGee saluted. "Sir." Turning to the twins, he motioned them to follow him. He escorted them to the bridge that led to Primm.

"I don't know what business you've got in Primm, but I suggest you get it done and over with, fast. And if you can help it, try not to draw attention to yourself while you're in, the town's in a, well, delicate situation."

"Yeah, the powder ganger's taken over, any other obvious facts you wanna share? Like people die when they're killed?" Six snorted.

"Technically that last bit's not true. I mean, we're still alive," Nine whispered with grim humour. Six retaliated by slugging him in the arm.

McGee sighed. "Suppose there's no harm in telling you, you'll find out eventually. We were planning on pushing into the town to rout the convicts for good, when the gangers pulled off another raid and made off with a few townsfolk as their hostages. They made random demands and threats of public execution if we moved in, so we've been forced into a stalemate since then. Never mind that the convicts were better armed and organised than what our initial intel said. We don't have nearly enough men to take the town and keep it safe from other gangers."

"Why are you telling us this? That Hayes dude was pretty tight-lipped about the whole deal before," Six pointed out.

"He's just the cautious type. And he wanted to discourage anyone from heading into Primm if he could help it. Seeing how you're adamant about going in, I figured you should at least know."

The twins quietly entered the town, tip-toeing around the mines ("so those powder gangers don't get any funny ideas," added McGee). The streets were deserted, void of any presence save for three gangers loitering about in the area, unaware of their presence.

Taking cover in the empty garage, Nine silently peered around the edge, taking note of one ganger up on the ruined house diagonally across from the garage, and two more around the casino opposite of Bison Steve Hotel and Casino. Lady Luck seemed in a good mood, as the ganger on the house began dozing off.

Six took notice of it as well, and without exchanging any words, both of them nodded, and Nine quietly crept into the house and up the stairs, drawing out a silenced .22 pistol he stole- _borrowed indefinitely_ from Chet's general goods store back in Goodsprings. His twin was much better in close-quarter-combat than he ever would be, not that he'd ever admit it.

Yanking the ganger back, Nine shoved the barrel of his pistol against the convict's head and pulled the trigger. Hastily wiping off the splash of blood on his face, he tossed aside the handgun and drew out his varmint rifle, laid flat on his stomach and took his aim. The furthest of the two remaining thugs held a pistol, and the other had a crowbar hooked to his belt.

Nine chose his target, and squeezed the trigger. The first shot went wild, missing the thug with the handgun by few inches. The second shot hit the mark, and the ganger went down with a dull thud. The last convict cried out in surprise, hand flying to the crowbar when Six whirled around the corner, machete in hand. With the element of surprise on her side, she managed to disarm him by lopping off his arm, before sinking the blade into his abdomen, silencing his pained gurgles.

The two remained still for a moment, ears straining to pick up any other noise from the ensuing fight. They heard gravel crunch beneath hard soles of boots, and the two wheeled toward the source of the noise, weapons at the ready.

"W-wait, don't shoot!" The man cried out, dropping his rifle and raising his hands in surrender. "I ain't with them gangers, I swear!"

Nine lowered his varmint rifle as Six sheathed her machete. "Holy wow, you're old."

"Youngsters these days…" The old man sputtered, his eyes widening in surprise. "Wait a sec, I've seen you two before, haven't I?"

"What's up?" Nine asked as he ambled closer.

Six shook her head. The old man's eyes darted between the twins, nodding to himself. "Yeah, I'm certain I have. Don't see many twins around here. You're couriers from the Mojave Express, ain'tcha?"

"You… you know us?" The Courier twins asked in unison.

The old man nodded, a tad puzzled. "Of course, now I remember. Old age's getting to me, I swear. Shouldn't be a problem for you youngsters though, don't tell me you've forgotten! Name's Johnson Nash! We even had you over for Ruby's casserole, remember? That was, well now, how long ago was it?"

The twins shared a look. "This is gonna be a long story. Mind if we talk somewhere, you know, safer?"

"Alright, follow me."

* * *

The Vikki and Vance had the makings of a casino, but like the rest of the town it has certainly seen better days. The same could be said for its inhabitants, faces tight and eyes ragged.

"Don't suppose you need me to spell out the obvious. Good to know the two of you are alive and kicking, but you picked a bad time to visit. Do yourselves a favour and leave Primm as soon as you can. The gangers have been harassing us quite often recently, even made off with some of our folks," Johnson said as he led them to a table in the far corner. "They… they took my wife. Those bastards."

"We spoke with the NCR troops stationed outside. They did say something about taking hostages," Six said.

"They're holding them for ransom. All we've got are guns and clothes on our back. And the damn NCR won't raise a finger to help us unless we agreed to fly their banners." Johnson sighed, burying his head in his hands. "Believe me, us Primm folks, we take pride in being independent, and that's the way we stayed for decades. But what were we supposed to do? They took our town, our homes, and now they took our women. They took my wife. Some of the men here never handled a gun before, and I'm useless in a fight, what with my bum legs."

"That bad, huh?" The twins swivelled around and had a closer look. True enough, most of the assembled townsfolk were men, ragged in both clothes and appearance. The few women that were left were either too young or too old.

Then there was the robot, a protectron with a top hat perched on its sensors. "Uh, the fuck is up with the 'bot?" Six asked, jerking her thumbs at the robot.

"Primm Slim," was all Old Nash said, clearly too upset to give a more detailed description. "In any case, you said you wanted to talk about something?"

In lieu of words, both twins simultaneously parted their hair with their fingers, revealing the scars where the bullet punched through their skulls. The old man visibly flinched; even though his gun-toting days were long gone, there was no mistaking bullet wounds. And particularly nasty ones, at that.

"Supposedly we were making a delivery when we were intercepted. Some guy in checkered suit, dressed like a car seat back in the 80's, with a company of Khans, from what we heard. The bastard took our package, shot us in the head and left us for dead," Nine explained.

Johnson Nash gaped. "Well, you two youngsters look very much alive to me."

Six grinned. "We made a few friends while in Goodsprings. They patched us up, but we ended up losing a good chunk of our memories. That's probably why we didn't exactly recognise you – as far as we know, we've never seen you before."

"We heard that the Mojave Express building was in Primm, and given the notes that we found on our belongings, we assumed this would be a good place to dig through some records. Personal identification papers we filled out, maybe," Nine said.

"And we also picked up a tidbit of rumour about certain douchebag with a schmancy suit was heading towards Primm, so we wanted to ask around and see if anyone saw him," Six added.

Nash was quiet for a moment before he answered. "I'm sure there are some records I could let you flick through. But I've locked the place up tight, and it's dangerous to just wander about outside. As for the man in suit, I haven't seen the fella myself, but I know our 'deputy' has."

"It's a start. Where is he?"

"The gangers took him, along with the rest of the women."

"Fuck," Six breathed.

Johnson shook his head. "I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but as someone who's lived this long and seen a lot of things, take it from me, just be glad you're still alive and start over. I've seen what revenge can do to a man, and trust me, you don't want to tread down that path."

* * *

"That was a complete waste of time. Fuck."

The twins took refuge in the empty garage next to the Vikki and Vance casino. Bidding hasty, half-hearted farewells to old man Nash, they first headed over to the Express building, finding it indeed locked upon attempting the doorknob. Nine's deft hands made quick work of the simple locking mechanism, and turning on their pip-boy lights they began rummaging through the filing cabinet, going through one file after another. Without knowing their true names, the task was much more difficult, and night fell when they finally found what they were looking for.

Only, their personal documents were barely filled out. Their (mixed) ethnicity, age (twenty-four) were scribbled in messy handwriting; the rest, their family and last names, birth place, next of kin, place of residence, all were left blank.

With crushing disappointment, they left the building with a slam of the door, uncaring who or what heard them. Though the garage was barren and exposed, neither of them wanted to head back into the casino, or the NCR encampment. They just wanted to be left alone for a while, mull over what they've seen (or haven't seen), and decide on their next course of action.

Before they knew it, it was already morning, and they rose, groggily wiping sleep from their eyes.

"You know, I've been thinking-"

"Really? You can do that? Thinking?" Nine sneered, hissing when his twin kicked him in the shin.

"Yeah, jackass, thinking. Anyway, the Express was a fucking dead end. So what? Maybe that Nash dude has a point."

"About how revenge is bad for you?"

Six snorted. "Fuck that shit. Revenge is sweet as sin. No, I meant the part about starting over. You know, start a new life and all that jizz."

"I think you meant to say 'jazz'," Nine corrected.

Courier Six smirked. "I know what I said."

"Moving on," Nine muttered, "what now?"

"What'd you think? The guy who's got the answer is currently locked up in the shithole of a hotel across the road."

Nine glowered. "You can't be serious."

"Why not? We've dealt with the gangers before, how hard can it be?" Six argued.

"Yeah, only with small groups, and we always caught them off-guard before. Just think about it, sis. It'll be impossible for just the two of us," he reasoned. "In case you don't remember, we're couriers, not soldiers."

Six threw her hands up in frustration. "Fine! Then what the fuck do you want to do, then?"

Her twin bit his lips in thought. "Not sure if this might work, but hell, it's worth a shot."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've got a plan. C'mon, we need to have a chat with Hayes."

* * *

 **A/N: Second chapter done and uploaded. I swear, the part about Primm was difficult to write. My first plan was to just have the twins sneak in, guns blazin', get the deputy out, and go on their merry ways. But from a more realistic perspective, is this even possible? I get that it's just a game, so reality is kinda bent, stretched, and sometimes thrown out the window altogether. But come on, two couriers, not special task forces but couriers, against a building chock-full of hardened inmates armed with dynamites and bloody flamethrowers? Yeah, however you look at it, not gonna work out. The twins, as of now, can handle themselves in a fight, sure, but they sure as hell aren't Liam Neeson. Maybe later, maybe, but right now? Yeah, no.**

 **Thought I'd add in extra monsters from the popular monster mod. I hate them geckos with choppers and bloody axes. And cazadores. Seriously, fuck those cazadores. And deathclaws. And centaurs. And Nightstalkers. And Nightkins. And all those ghouls. And the radscorpions. Did I mention the ghouls? And the cazadores? Yeah, fuck them all.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **\- Agreeing to come to an agreement -**

* * *

" _My assistant came upon a revelation of astounding proportion; people die when they're killed. Amazing!"_

-Wasteland Survival guide, foreword by Moira Brown

* * *

The road stretching down south towards the Mojave Outpost was a perilous one. Per Hayes' suggestion, the twin Couriers opted to stay on the asphalt road, such as it was, as the surrounding wilderness was known to shelter less-than-friendly local wildlife or worse. After their run-in with the large, armed gecko en route to Primm, they were more than happy to oblige.

As the road sloped downhill, Nine abruptly halted and raised his fist. "Wait."

"What? What is it?"

In lieu of words Nine reached for his binocular, and Six could see what held them up; up ahead stood a derelict patrol station, with a few run-down police cars littered in the front. Leaning against one of the cars was a man lighting up a cigar.

"Strange, doesn't look like he's one of Primm townsfolk. His get-up's kinda different from the powder gangers, too," Nine observed.

"We could always just walk up and ask," Six shrugged with a grin. "You feel like making some new friends?"

"Sure, why not. While you're at it, why not ask him if he wants to play a hand of caravan?" Nine shot back with an eye-roll.

They heard boots scraping against the gravel, and before either of them could react, they found themselves surrounded by a group of men, brandishing rusted crowbars and baseball bats.

"Lookie what we found 'ere, two brahmin calves greener than fuck!" One of them cackled as they closed in on the twins. Nine raised his varmint rifle, only to find himself eating dirt with a splitting pain on the back of his head.

"Nine!" He heard her twin cry out, and the catcalls of the thugs as their leering gazes roamed up and down her body.

"Oooh, that's a sharp looking knife ya got there, little missy. Why don't ya put that down and come wid' us?" One of the thugs panted.

"Yeah, we've got our own gig right there. We can show you around, then you can show us around all them goodies inside those clothes," another suggested, guffawing.

Six growled, one hand on her machete and the other on her twin, who was still reeling from the blow. His rifle was kicked aside, and they were up against five armed men. It was Goodsprings cemetery all over again, except worse. At least the poncy cunt in chess suit had the decency to just shoot them and end their misery.

And, like Goodsprings cemetery, salvation came from the most unexpected places.

One of the rapey thugs suddenly collapsed, spraying blood from a newly-formed hole in his throat. The rest cried out in alarm, when another fell with blood and gore gushing from the head.

Six was just as confused as their assailants, but took advantage of the chaos all the same to slice open a thug's jugular. By then Nine was recovered enough to draw out the silenced .22 pistol he stole- _leased for undetermined period of time_ from Chet in Goodsprings. One pull of the trigger, and down went another ruffian.

The last of the raider stood with a look of disbelief frozen on his face. The expression saw little change when he too, bit the dust, courtesy of a bullet to the chest from an unknown sniper.

"What the hell just happened?" was the first thing Nine asked as he let Six help him up to his feet. His head was still throbbing like hell, and bleeding too, as Six pointed out. She reached for her bag for a stimpak, when they heard someone approaching. Quick as a flash, the machete found its way back into her hands.

"Whoa, easy there, lady. I'm not here to hurt you or your man," the stranger said as he lowered his rifle.

"Who the fuck are you?" Six snarled. The tone came out harsher than intended, but she wasn't about to take any chances.

She thought she heard the man grunt, but with his face covered with a cloth and a pair of dark spectacles, it was difficult to tell. "Considering how I was the one who helped you from not ending up as their fucktoy, I think I deserve some words of gratitude, lady."

"Relax, sis," Nine murmured from the side, his eyes unfocused. "If he wanted to kill us, he already would've done it."

The man nodded, holstering his rifle. "Smart man you got there, lady. I wouldn't mind helping you out, if you wouldn't mind lowering that knife first."

Six chewed her lips as she contemplated the offer, then sheathed her blade. The stranger crouched next to Nine and eyed the bleeding wound on his head. "This needs to be treated and out here ain't the best place for a first-aid. And I'll bet you anything there are more of those Jackal fucks skulking around the area."

"Jackals?" Six asked. "Those fucking pigs we just wasted?"

"Yep. Tell you what, my place isn't far from here, so how about we talk more once we're there and not out here, yeah?"

Six frowned, but relented after one look at her injured twin. "Fine, lead the way."

* * *

The shack was small in size and spartan in décor, decked with only the essentials one needed if they were pursuing a minimalist lifestyle. The only thing that slightly spoke of extravagance was perhaps the large desk in the middle of the one-room shack, most of its space occupied by small stacks of folders and an ornate type-writer.

"So…" Nine trailed off, gingerly patting the layer of bandage that obscured most of his face. The stimpak helped sealing the wound and saved him from exsanguination, but the wound was still tender and prone to reverting to pre-stimpak, post-blunt-trauma stage. "Mr. Randalf, was it?"

"'Randall'," the stranger corrected, "owner and operator of 'Randall and Associates'. And though it may not look the part, it's a bounty hunting firm."

"You're a bounty hunter?" Six asked with a gleam in her eyes.

"Used to be, back in my prime. Still am, sort of, I guess, but these days I push the papers more than I push convicts around. Hurts my ass to sit on it all day, but hey, someone has to keep some semblance of record-keeping."

"Holy shit, that's pretty awesome," Six said, as Nine nodded in agreement. "Say, how do you become a bounty hunter anyway?"

"You lookin' to be bounty hunters yourselves, huh?" Randall said, amusement creeping into his voice. "No offence, but hunting bounties ain't a game. There ain't no glory or some other bullshit going after wanted criminals, it's a dirty work that'll follow you everywhere. I've seen my share of kids like you, heads up in the clouds to see the real picture, and take it from me, it ain't pretty."

Both twins bristled at the 'kids' part. Before they could argue back, Randall held up his hand. "Now, I know that ain't what you wanted to hear, but it's for your own good. I've seen one too many kids fantasizing about all that wild west justice bullshit and going after the killers, only to wound up dead lying in a ditch in nowhere. Find someplace safe, get a boring job that doesn't get you shot, or whatever."

The Courier twins shared a sombre look, and in unison parted their hair, revealing the obvious bullet wounds for the bounty hunter to see. Again, his face-wrap made it difficult to gauge the man's reaction, but they knew for certain it gave him a pause, at least.

"Now who or what in the hell did you two piss off to get _that_ doozy?" Randall asked.

"To tell you the truth, we've no idea. We were just your average couriers, then some cunt in a poncy suit decided to intercept our delivery and paid us with bullets in the head," Nine scoffed. "Guess not everyone's adhering to the whole 'don't-shoot-the-messenger' thing."

"And you ever heard of the shootout that went down in Goodsprings up north? Yeah, a group of powder gangers decided to take over the town and we helped putting them to the ground," Six boasted. "And when I say we helped, I meant we pretty much did most of the work."

"And now we're on our way to the Mojave Outpost to relay a message to bring in some troops to help secure Primm from further powder ganger incursion," Nine added. "So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, we're not exactly new to the whole danger business."

"On that note, you ever seen a guy in a white and black suit? Some Ozzy Osbourne looking motherfucker, greasy hair, tags along with a group of tribals rocking some serious leather. It would've been impossible to miss him," Six asked. "He's the one that shot us in the head, and we're looking for him."

That got a bit of a laugh out of the bounty hunter. "Can't say I have, though what are you going to do if you do find him?"

The twins grinned. "A little something called 'revenge'."

"Revenge, huh?" Randall rolled the word around in his lips, and they swore they heard glee in his voice. "Alright, so maybe I was a bit hasty in writing you off. Revenge can push a man like nothing else, and I've seen examples of that first-hand. I still can't sign you up for contracts though, not yet."

Six threw her hands up in exasperation. "What the fucking fuck! What more do you want from us, then?"

"Some trigger discipline, for starters, and maybe some better gear. You ain't gonna last long in the field, not with those damn peashooters," Randall said as he pointed at the .22 pistol in Nine's possession. "And for fuck's sake, get some better armour or something. I mean, what the fuck kind of onesies are you wearing? And why'd it has to be blue, of all colours?"

"Oi! We're broke as fuck and this hand-me-down was all we could get! And what's wrong with blue?" Six said indignantly.

"What's wrong with the colour blue? You shittin' me, missy? Try to blend in with the sand while wearing that, winner of Darwin award right there."

"That's not too bad. Better her than me," Nine said with a shrug. Six smiled as she 'gently' stepped on his toes.

"Alright, so some wardrobe changes, got it. Any other fashion tips?"

"Even better, maybe some caps for us two poor mental cripples?" Nine pitched in once he recovered from his sister's less-than-pleasant retaliation.

Randall shook his head. "Can't help you much with caps – this ain't a charity firm, here. But I can do something about some better gun. Here." The masked bounty hunter tossed his black rifle without a warning, and Nine almost fumbled and dropped the gun.

"Shit, a little warning, next time? And what's this, exactly?"

Randall shrugged. "No foggin' idea, to be honest. Found it in some cave far to the east from here. Thought it was a good enough place to spend the night, only it was a den chock-full of damned rats, some of the biggest bastards I've ever seen, at that. No idea who owned the gun before, but hell, whoever it was, they sure as hell knew how to pimp a gun."

Nine was inclined to agree – its contours suggested of its origins as a varmint rifle, except the stock was tougher, polished to a smooth black finish, with an interesting décor of white tally marks notched near the bottom. The magazine clip was noticeably bigger than that of the standard counterpart models, with the addition of a silencer and a scope mounted on top as an icing on the proverbial cake.

Said proverbial cake was christened as 'Ratslayer', as was imprinted on its stock.

Nine couldn't help but grin. With all these modifications, the shitty varmint rifle didn't seem so shitty anymore. Hell, the scope was going to give him a big edge when sniping down targets from afar.

"Hope you know how to handle one of those; the road to the Outpost ain't so bad, but recently all these damn zombies came outta nowhere and now they're polluting the road with their shitty stink. I swear, for all them NCR talkin' about conquering new lands and shit, they can't even clean up a damn road."

"'Zombies'?" The twins inquired.

"That'd be 'ghouls' for you folks. They look hideous and smell worse. That rifle has a scope, so use that to put them zombie fuckers down the good 'ol fashioned way, with bullets to the head. For once, the movies actually got something right. How about that."

"We'll keep that in mind. But you really okay with just giving it to us?"

"Scoped guns ain't exactly my style, and 'sides, I'm a damn good shot with or without it anyway. You'd need it more than I do, obviously."

"Gee, thanks… I guess," Nine muttered.

"Hey, I gave it to you 'cause the two of you showed some promise. Don't you prove me wrong and get yourselves killed until the next time we meet, yeah?"

Six snorted. "Oh yeah, 'cause we're just _dying_ to, well, _die_ again. Get it? _Dying_?"

Nine cracked a grin as Randall shook his head with a quiet groan. "I swear, sense of humour's drier than bloody Mojave."

"Yeah, well, somebody have to play the butt monkey, and it sure as hell isn't going to be me."

"Thanks, jackass," Six intoned.

Nine sneered. "Love you too, sis."

"Goddamn incest if I ever saw one," Randall added, sotto voce. It wasn't sotto voce enough, and the twins flipped him the bird in unison, eliciting a chuckle from the veteran bounty hunter. "Anyways, I need to tell you, the next time we meet, it won't be here."

"Yeah? Then where?"

"No idea, yet. Hard to fine enough bodies out here in the remote, so I figured I'll have a better luck somewhere with more traffic, maybe New Vegas up north. I'm getting an office set up around there, so once you deal with your business, come find me again, and if I see that you both have what it takes then, then we can talk about setting you both up with some contracts."

The Courier twins nodded in unison. "Deal."

* * *

By the time they left Randall's shack ("a 'firm', my ass," Six oh-so eloquently put), the sun was steadily setting in the distance, painting the wasteland before them in red and orange. The air was getting steadily cooler, much to their relief, though they both knew how fast that could change once the night took over.

Luckily, the Outpost wasn't too far away – the large monument of two rangers stood out like a metal lighthouse in the sea of sand and dust. The road ahead was no less dangerous, however. They didn't run into any more armed gang on the way ('Jackals', they later learnt from Randall), they did, however, see a ghoul for the first time, or rather, heard of its presence before they first laid eyes on it.

Calling the ghoul an 'it' was an apt description, as it barely resembled a human. Rotted skin clinging on to bones like dry leather, milky, pustular eyes jutting out from gaunt skulls, and worst of all was its guttural shriek as it somehow sensed their presence and dashed towards the twins with a surprising agility.

That was also the first time they killed – or rather, re-killed – the ghoul, with a single well-aimed shot to the head. The encounter left them understandably shaken; any sane person would've had the same reaction, upon witnessing a personification of an uncanny valley. At least now they knew how to kill, or rather, re-kill, them. Both twins made mental notes to thank the bounty hunter the next time they saw him.

Both of them also made mental notes to not let their guard down, even when a rest-stop area loomed into view – Six almost didn't see the radscorpions until Nine shouted out in alarm, Ratslayer in hand. The front-most mutated insect was small enough to put to the ground with one shot, but the larger ones, easily two times the height and three times the width of their young, wasn't so easily deterred. Rather than risking injuries and, worse, being poisoned, both decided to favour discretion over valour and legged it, not looking back until they were half-way up the hill leading to the Outpost.

"Fucking… fuck…" Even out of breath, profanity never failed to take its place in her repertoire of vocabulary, such as it was. "Please tell me they're gone."

Nine raised his head and scanned the vicinity, ears strained for the telltale hisses of the mutated creatures, then let out a breath of relief when they were in the clear. "Guess they're gone. Still, let's not wait around to see if they'll pop up again."

The hill was somewhat steep, and navigating past the twisted steel corpses of the vehicles from the pre-war era was made a little more challenging due to scarce lighting. The towering monument of two rangers shaking hands seemed especially bigger right up close, the twins noted.

"Compensating for _something_ , probably," Six casually tossed in with a suggestive smirk.

Nine said nothing, having noticed a blockade at the foot of said monuments, metal fences reinforced with barbed wires and sentries, by the looks of it.

"Halt, identify yourselves, and state your business," the soldier atop the blockade called out.

The twins shared a look, before Nine stepped forward. "We're couriers, and we're here to deliver a message from lieutenant Hayes."

"LT? Up north in Primm?"

"The very same. We were asked to deliver his message to the ranger who's in charge of this Outpost. Can you let us in?" Nine asked.

The watch guard fell silent, gauging the two couriers with a sceptical look. "Alright, I'll have someone escort you two around. We'll let you in, but mind yourselves and don't try anything funny, got it?"

The gate opened with a loud screech of metal grinding against metal, and the Courier twins headed inside.

* * *

"I see. I wonder why Hayes didn't send one of his own men to deliver the message, but I suppose it doesn't matter now. You have my thanks for hoofing it all the way down here from Primm, heard the road isn't so safe at the moment," Ranger Jackson said.

"You have no idea," Six scoffed, before adding a 'sir' so as to keep some modicum of politeness.

"And you're just in time, we're due to getting some heavy support from homefront any day now. Once they're here, we can afford to spare a few more men to establish our foothold in Primm, and clean up the NCRCF mess in one fell swoop."

The twins brightened up after hearing that tidbit. The correctional facility that housed the bulk of the powder gangers was too close to Goodsprings for its inhabitants to sleep soundly; after the shootout that saw to putting Cobb and his marauding party to the ground, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility for the rest of the inmates to crack down on the quaint town, hard, until blood was shed. And the twins were quite fond of said town, after all that's went down.

The message delivered, they decided to retire for the night. Jackson pointed them towards the visitors' barrack, where there were enough empty beds for the occasional caravaneers and visitors to crash for the night or few, if necessary. If it was food and drink they were after, the mess hall was right next to the main barracks, which was where the soldiers slept.

"Hell, come to think of it, we haven't had dinner yet, huh?" Nine absently asked.

"Yeah, but I'm hungry for something else," Six said as her eyes followed a pair of burly men in soldier fatigues, humming in approval of their muscular physique.

Said guards realised they were being stared at, and once they found out who, gladly invited her to join them at the table for some drinks. Six threw a questioning glance at her counterpart in silent invitation, to which he declined with a shake of his head. He had no intentions of partaking in any 'sausage fest', especially if it involved his twin.

Six's lips curled up in mirth, but nodded all the same. She was a big girl, and she could handle herself.

Now left to his own devices, Nine wandered off after a quick bite and a shot of whiskey. The nights in deserts were frigid, stark contrast to the fire and brimstone that was the daytime in the sand-filled wasteland. Shivering, he decided to head for the visitor's barrack and crash early. It was a small building off to the side from the main compound, and judging by the absence of light from the windows the occupants within it, if there were any inside, was fast asleep.

Shrugging, Nine tugged at the doorknob and stepped inside. Like a tidal wave a sharp stench of alcohol struck him at full force, his hands instinctively covering his nose. The interior was dark, as expected, but the ambient lights from outside bled in just enough to help him make out the outlines of many beds lined next to the walls, all empty save for one in the far corner.

Said occupant was quietly snoring, boots haphazardly thrown to the side next to numerous bottles of what he surmised were whiskey bottles, the contents emptied.

Briefly he toyed with the idea of heading back out, but decided against it. With a sigh he set aside his possessions on the floor beneath the mattress, and threw himself under the cover. And before he knew it, he drifted into sleep.

* * *

 **A/N: Welp, as stated in the early chapters, decided to introduce _New Vegas: Bounties_ trilogy to the mix, adjusting the beginning so it was more in tune with the flow of the story. The mod's great, but due to its location, early-game PCs could just walk in and get the bounty contract set up, despite the fact that said PCs were just brought back from the brink of dying 'cause, you know, people usually die when shot in the head. Seeing how the twins aren't quite the power giants yet, I decided to have Randall hold back from employing them until he was certain they could take care of themselves. **

**And speaking of which, I also took the liberty of moving his firm from the isolated shack near Primm to someplace in or near New Vegas strip, also for the sake of convenience and flow. Hope I did his characterisation justice.**

 **And yeah, I know Ratslayer's found in Broc Flower Cave, which is some distance from the general area of Primm and Mojave Outpost. Normally I'm too lazy to hoof it all the way there and fight through all those damn rats, so I just type in to save myself the trouble.**


End file.
